One For Me, One For You, But You Aren't Alive Anymore
by okeydokeyworld
Summary: 'A pair of thin, pale, hands take the cup from John, John looks up, and see's Sherlock Holmes standing in front of him. "Hello, John" says Sherlock.' OR: John has a habit that deals with tea, and his one true friend.
1. Two Cups Of Tea

**I do not own any this world's adorable British dorks, no matter what I say otherwise.**

This is my first Sherlock fic, so I hope I got everything and everyone right.

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When John Watson goes home, there is always a simple routine that he will follow before going to bed. He will walk through the door, drop anything that he might be carrying on the floor, then kick off his shoes, take off his rumpled coat, then wrap himself in a bathrobe that is always lying neatly folded on one of the couches.

And then he will go into the kitchen and pour himself two cups of tea.

For three years out of habit, John continues to serve an extra cup of tea to man who is no longer alive anymore.

And one day, when John comes home after a trying day, he sits in his bathrobe at the table, staring at the steaming cups of tea.

John waits, and waits for a pair of thin, pale, hands stretch out across the table and pick up one of the cups.

But the cup stays where it is, and then it suddenly reoccurs to John, his friend is _gone_ , and is never coming back.

John grabs his teacup and throws it across the room, listening in satisfaction to the sound of shattering china, then John proceeds to break every single dish,cup, or plate that he possesses.

But he doesn't touch Sherlock's cup, and when he finally crawls into bed covered in blood and tears, the cup is still standing on the table.

The next day John goes out to buy new dishes, he comes back later in the afternoon, with a box of kitchenware clamped underneath his arm.

He places the box on the table, cuts it open, and begins to unpack his new dishes.

John was about to put the last two cups away when he remembers the tea bubbling on the stove.

Slowly John lifts the teapot from the hot burner, and pours tea into the two cups, then he sits at the table, sipping his own tea, and watching the steam curling upwards from the top of the other cup.

When he finally empties his cup, John stands up and grabs the other cup, meaning to throw the excess tea away, but a pair of thin, pale, hands take the cup away from him.

John looks up, and sees Sherlock Holmes standing in front of him, blowing into the tea to cool it down.

"Hello, John" says Sherlock.


	2. Where Are My Pajamas ?

"Sherlock, you're back." John choked out. Sherlock gracefully slid into a chair next to the Doctor, "You remembered the sugar, John" Sherlock observed quietly.

"You're welcome." John said. The two men sat side by side in absolute silence for a while. The amount of tea in Sherlock's cup had significantly diminished before John finally spoke again.

Sherlock almost flinched back, expecting torrent of angry, bitter, accusations to come pouring out of John's mouth, but the only thing that John said was, "How have you been?"

Sherlock downed the last of his tea before answering. "I am fine John, I have never felt better." said Sherlock.

John nodded, then picked up both his and Sherlock's teacups and walked into the kitchen, to deposit them in the sink.

Sherlock stared at John's retreating back in something akin to confusion. "You - you are not angry at me John?" Sherlock questioned.

"Not really." John called back, his voice drifting out from the interior of the kitchen.

Sherlock's high-tuned mind was racing, he had expected a more dramatical reaction from his friend, but despite his uneasiness at John's behavior, Sherlock let it pass.

John has accepted him again without complaint, and that is all that Sherlock wants at that moment. Even if he wouldn't admit it.

When John exited the kitchen, he found that Sherlock has migrated to the living room couch, and was sitting with his feet propped up on a coffee table.

Sherlock looked at John as he entered the room, "Why did you break your dishes John?" asks Sherlock unexpectedly. "Your old set was much nicer than the new one."

John rolled his eyes, "Sherlock, it's getting late." he said. "Go to sleep then" remarked Sherlock dryly. "Your bed is right where you left it." retorted John, "And all the blankets are in your closet."

"Very well, John" said Sherlock. The detective rose to his feet and began to move down the hallway towards his old bedroom, he paused before entering the room. "Don't let the bedbugs bite John, because it is apparent that you have quite the infestation." Sherlock called down the hallway.

"Go to bed Sherlock" John growled irritably, scratching at a red bite mark behind his ear. "Do you need ointment for that?" Sherlock grinned, before going into his bedroom.

When John heard the door close behind Sherlock, he let himself collapse onto the couch, right on the same place that Sherlock was previously occupying.

John closes his eyes and counted to three, as if on cue, Sherlock's voice shouted down the hallway, "Where are my pajamas, John !"

John let a small smile creep onto his face, finally after three long years, a fleeting feeling of normalcy was returning.


End file.
